Adrift
by Bardic Jester
Summary: A chance meeting between Theodore Nott and Hermione Granger late at night. Two students lost in their own minds, open up to each other, and become closer than either ever expected.
1. Adrift

** "Things are sweeter when they're lost. I know—because once I wanted something and got it. It was the only thing I ever wanted badly…And when I got it it turned to dust in my hands."_The Beautiful and Damned_**

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I sat next to Tracey, reading Fitzgerald, in the common room of Slytherin. I wore my hair like Joe Strummer. Tracey cut it a few days earlier. It fit with my punk rock look: the large black boots, leather jacket, and tight black pants. Tracey sat still, listening to her cassettes of Bauhaus. She looked like PJ Harvey with her slick black hair. Her white dress shirt was tied with a tight black suit jacket. She sat with her knees close to her chest. I lounged my arm over top of the couch. We seldom spoke.

Near midnight, Tracey sat up from her spot, traced her hand hither and tither up my leg, before standing, and heading to her dorm room. I put down my book. She walked slowly. Her walkman rested in her palm. The room was nearly empty. Two lovers held each other on a chair, and a boy with unkempt hair scribbled in a notebook. I closed my book, placed it on the seat Tracey had just been sitting in, and got up from my spot.

I zipped up my leather jacket, and felt in the chest pocket. I had a half empty pack of cigarettes, and an ugly yellow lighter I'd stolen off a Ravenclaw. I left the common room, headed through the front door of Slytherin, down the hall, up the stairs, to the doors outside. I walked down the barely lit gravel path. The bitter winter was slowly crawling towards spring. I took a cigarette from my pocket, put it in my mouth, and lit it with the ugly yellow lighter, exhaling in one long, slow breath. I liked to smoke near the lake. There was a small dock with a bench near the water's edge, under an old lamppost I'd sit, alone, and pretend to think. The water was always still. A large black mirror reflecting the world back at me.

As I approached the lake, I noticed a dark silhouette before the water. Someone else was there. I stuck my hands into the front pockets of my leather jacket, inhaled, and greeted the figure. "Hello," I said. I sat down on the bench, and crossed my legs.

"What are you doing here?" she asked.

"I'm just here to smoke. I could ask you the same thing."

"Don't."

"Alright."

Hermione Granger. She wore a green army jacket over a black dress, and slim black flats. Hardly clothes for an evening stroll. Her long curly hair rustled in the anemic wind. I took another drag. She continued to look out at the water. Her right arm folded over her stomach. She did not turn around to face me. I watched the bottom of her dress move, as she swayed slightly, side to side. We stayed in silence. The water hit lightly against the shore.

"I hate staring at the stars." She said.

"Why?" I asked.

"They're a lie. They pretend to be so close, like I could reach out towards the sky and touch one. But really, they're farther away than we could ever imagine. The proximity's a trick; I hate being tricked. I hate this. I..." She trailed off. Her shoulders shook. I ran my fingers through my hair. My cigarette pinched between my fingers. I sat quiet, watching her. "They're always there too. This constant reminder of how far we are from them. A new lie each night. Continually trying to convince us that we're close, that we know each other, we're friends, we're closer..." she trailed off again.

"Rough night?" I asked.

"Yes."

She turned around. Lines of mascara ran down the side of her face. Vibrant red lipstick covered her lips. The green army jacket was unzipped; her black dress had a low cut, with two thin straps bolstered on her shoulder. She must have been cold. The stubborn winter air lingered in the early spring. I gave her a gentle wave, my legs still crossed on the bench. Her arms held tightly over her stomach. She feigned a wave back, with the flick of the wrist.

"You smoke here often?" she asked.

"When I need to clear my head."

"Have a rough night as well?"

"No. Not really. Although, to be honest, it may be the lack I need to clear my head from."

She turned back around, and faced the lake.

"Would you like a smoke?" I asked.

"I'd love one."

I stood up from the bench, and approached her. From my chest pocket, I grabbed the pack, and handed it to her. Her hand shivering, she reached in, and grabbed a cigarette. She brought it too her mouth, and cupped her hands. I brought my lighter up, till it was touching the tip, and lit it. She inhaled, slowly, and nodded her head.

"Thanks," she spoke.

"No problem." I said.

"You know, we've been here for seven years. I've seen you almost every day. And, yet, I don't think we've ever spoken."

"That's probably true."

"It's nice to meet you, mister Nott."

"Same to you, miss Granger."

We shook hands.

"The past couple of weeks," she began, "I've often been thinking on those terms. Looking back on the seven years we've been here. There's something about an end, an approaching, definitive, final end, that makes me think back about everything. Who I've spoken to, who I haven't, what I've done, what I haven't. What about you Nott?"

"I think everyone does, to a certain extent." I said.

"But it's stupid right? Why do we care so much at the end? When there's no chance to change anything. When we can't go back. We can't fix things. All we're able to do, is focus on them, those fucking regrets that are out of our reach." She stared down at her fingers, the cigarette burning slowly between them.

"It may be foolish, but it's not like we're powerless. Our lives aren't over when we leave these walls." I said. I threw my butt into the water. It sizzled, momentarily, before floating away in the dark.

"This life is over though: our life at Hogwarts. It's done. We'll never be able to do anything in that capacity again. No matter how much we want."

"Do you have many regrets?" I asked.

"Maybe," she said. "When I look back, all I see is missed opportunities. Times when I could have done something, when I wanted to do something, when I should have done something, but I did nothing. It bugs me, frustrates me. I can't get it out of my head. Why did I not act? Why did I say nothing? You get me?"

"Yeah. More than you could know." I sat back on the bench, and crossed my legs again. Tracey was probably asleep now: her PJ Harvey hair; her black clothes; her soft skin; her silence. I fingered the inside of my pocket, and took out another smoke. Leaning downwards, with one hand blocking the wind, I tried to light it. Each spark was blown through my fingers by the wind. Hermione turned towards me, and cupped her hands around my face. A final burst erupted from the lighter, and lit the tip. I looked upwards, towards the stars, and exhaled.

"I feel so defeated," Hermione said. "I'm afraid my whole life will be lived this way. A continual series of regrets, missed opportunities, and false hopes. When I'm old, I'll look back at 'what ifs' and not how I actually lived." She sat down on the bench next to me.

"Have you ever read Sartre?" I asked.

"A little."

"He says that when we pretend we don't have choice, or when we don't act on our own accord, then we're in bad faith. In fact, we always have a choice. We are doomed to be free, always faced with the responsibility to act. So, in a sense, the only way to free yourself from that kind of thinking, of that pervasive action, is to simply act."

"It's not that simple."

"I think it is."

"Are you able to do that? Act?"

"No. I'm just as trapped as you are. Even when I get close, I still hold back. I never tell her..." I paused, inhaled, and turned towards the lake. "And yet, I feel like the solution is right before me. If I could simply act, to perform, then I'd break free from it."

Hermione stood from the bench. Her back dress moved in the wind. She put her hands in her pockets, and walked towards the water. "We could do something now. We could act. Do Something real. Start right now."

"You want to?" I asked.

"Sure."

"What can we do?"

"I don't know."

"We could jump into the lake," I suggested.

"That'd be a little dramatic, would it not?"

"Hey, I'm just giving suggestions."

She took one hand out of her pocket, and placed it on her hip. She stared out at the lake. The water was still. I uncrossed my legs, and took a drag. Smoke rose from my lips. "This is a pretty spot." Hermione said. I watched the line of her back, and the length of her legs.

"I'm fond of it. Been going here since sixth year. I'll be sad to see it go, when we graduate."

"I'll be sad about many things when we leave," she said. "Is the water always this calm?"

"Always." I stood up, and walked beside her. "Still as a mirror."

"It's beautiful."

"Yeah."

My reflection resembled a silhouette. The Joe Strummer hair cut faded in the dark water. An image adrift on the ebb of life.

Hermione turned towards me. The green army jacket fell loose on her shoulders. Her mascara carved a black line down her cheeks. She bit her lip. I gave her a smile. Slowly, she moved closer. Her long curly hair blown to the side. She placed her palm on my cheek. I stared into her eyes. She moved closer. I breathed a half breath, and she kissed me, under the stars, near the water, by the lake, in the light of lone old lamp post. I placed my hand on her stomach. Her black dress soft to my touch. I moved my hand to her hip, and then around to her back, underneath her green army jacket. I opened my palm, and pushed her closer to me. The line of her body rested against mine. Our mouths stayed together. She ran her fingers through my hair, gripping the back of my head.

We paused. She breathed deeply. And again, we kissed. My hand traced over her back. I raised it high, above the cut of her dress, and brushed my fingers against her skin. She loosened her shoulders, and let the green army jacket slip off to the ground. I placed my other hand on her stomach, grabbing hold of the dress. We pushed closer together. Her thighs dug into mine. She held onto the back of my head, and she moved her other hand onto my waist, between my shirt and pants, placing her cold fingers on my skin. I moved my hand on her stomach upwards, cupping my hand over one of her breasts. Between my lips, a small moan escaped her mouth. She pushed her waist against mine. I moved my hand over her breast higher, wrapping my finger over one of her dress' thin straps, pulling it slowly down her bare shoulder. She moved her hand down from my waist, over the crotch of my pants, rubbing her hand on my erection. Once I'd pulled the strap down, I moved my hand over top of her bra. She tightened her grip on my hair; our faces pushing against each other. I folded my fingers into her bra, felt her soft skin, and brushed her nipple. She pushed her tongue into mine, her grip tight on my crotch, my hand grasping her breast. I moaned.

"Wait," she said, pulling away.

Collecting myself, like waking from a dream, I stepped back.

"Okay," I responded.

She lifted the dress, and adjusted her bra. She picked up her green army jacket off the ground, threaded her arms through the sleeves, and zipped it up. In a daze, I took out my pack of cigarettes, but before I could grab one, Hermione snatched it from my hand. She grabbed a smoke, placed it in her mouth, tossed the pack onto the ground, and motioned me to light it. I obliged, stepping forward, cupping my hands over her red lips. She inhaled, and rubbed her face with her hand. I picked the pack up from the dock.

"I'm sorry," she said.

"It's alright." I said. I tried to light a cigarette myself, hitting the lighter, she cupped her hands around my mouth, brushing the side of my cheek with her fingers. The tip burned a deep crimson. I inhaled. I exhaled.

She sat down on the ground. "Damn it," she exclaimed. She held her head in her hands. "Why do I do this? Why can't I?"

"Hermione?" I sat down next to her, and rested my hand on her shoulder.

"I just, I just couldn't do that to you. I know about you. I know about her."

I sat back, staring at the stars. "Shit," I spoke, like an epiphany. Slowly, I traced my hand hither and tither up my leg. "You're right."

"Why do we do this?" she asked.

"Oh God, I don't know." I inhaled from my cigarette, and rubbed my eyes.

"It's funny," she chuckled, "We're so afraid to doing anything, of acting at all, and, yet, whenever I do, it's always like this."

"Yeah."

"I wish it was easier. Like, there wasn't this constant give and take. There'd be an clear answer. I wish I didn't always make it worse." She threw away her cigarette. "Fuck!" She buried her head in her hands.

I stood up, and walked towards the edge. The black mirror stared back at me. I watched my fleeting tenuous reflection try to understand. The Joe Strummer hair cut faded. Small white stars littered the water. My head felt heavy. I rubbed my brow. I felt like crying. I wanted to act. I wanted to be alive. But it all came out wrong.

Gradually, my weight shifted forward. My black boots edged forward. I held my breath. The cigarette pinched between my fingers. I fell. Her silence rang loud in my ear, my sleeping PJ Harvey, and my approaching end. The water burst open. The large black mirror broken. And in the moment, I felt distant. Hermione was as far as a star in the sky. And I felt no more alive.

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I hope you like it.

Please Leave a Review.

Thanks. BJ.


	2. Five Seconds

Chapter 2: Five Seconds

"Five seconds," she said, taking the seat across from me.

"Excuse me?" I asked, turning my attention away from my book.

"Five seconds," she repeated.

I stared at her, silent: Hermione Granger across from me. It was nearly 8 o'clock in the dining hall. The tables were scarce. A few stragglers grabbed the remaining pieces of dinner. The crowds were gone. I sat at the end of the Slytherin table. Tracey ate earlier. I was alone. It was my favourite time to eat. Fitzgerald, my black coffee, a plate of vegetables, and silence. I wore my punk rock attire: the large black boots, leather jacket, and tight black pants.

Hermione Granger wore her hair tied back. The deep crimson cardigan was loose over a blue skirt long over her knees. She barely resembled the girl in the slick black dress on the dock. A week had passed since we shared the night. But, in fact, it barely crossed my mind. It felt like an absurd dream. An episode slowly dissipating into memory. I only experienced it when I saw Tracey. I... Fitzgerald felt like my only friend.

"I'm sorry. I'm confused. Five seconds of what?"

"Five seconds of your heart."

I took a sip from my black coffee. It was a burnt remnant of the morning, left on a burner for hours, heated by my wand.

"I don't understand," I said.

"I want five more seconds. Another bite."

"Why?" I asked. "You were the one who pulled away."

"True," she agreed. "But, it was a moment of panic. We were both out of our heads. Now, we've been able to think about it."

"Has anything changed though?"

"It could change. That's why I'm suggesting it. We can make an informed decision. Change if we want to."

"Yeah?"

"I just need five seconds. Five more seconds of your heart."

"Do you want change?" I asked.

She leaned back in her chair. "I don't know. I'm not sure yet. That's why I need five more seconds."

"You think that'll be enough?"

"Yes."

I took another sip from my coffee, and placed my book face down on the table. Hermione tried to smile.

"Why do you care?" I asked.

"I can't get it out of my head. Like a drug, it just keeps coming back. Those few seconds in your arms felt more real than anything I've felt it months. I want to try again. But, I'm afraid I'll never be able to reproduce it. That's why I need five seconds."

"You're crazy."

"Have you not felt it? Life, at the edge of your finger tips?"

"I've been trying to ignore it, to be honest."

"Look, Nott, lets not try to kid ourselves. I don't think we would ever work. It's a fleeting fantasy. But, while it's still fresh, I want to hang onto it. You don't think we would ever work out either, right?"

"No."

"Then there's no worries, no tears, no problems. We won't be much at all. Just two people clinging to each other for a brief moment. Five seconds. What do you think?"

"Okay."

"Okay," she repeated with a smile.

She extended her arm forward. I reached out to meet her. Our hands grasped; arm placed on arm. We stayed silent.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five.

"Meet me tomorrow, around 10, outside of Gryffindor." Hermione said, and she walked away.


	3. One More Time

Chapter 3: One More Time

I stood around the corner from Gryffindor. My watch showed 10. I wore tight black pants, my leather jacket, and big black punk rock boots. I stuck my hands into the front pockets of my jacket and leaned against the wall. Tracey said nothing when I left Slytherin. She said nothing at all. Her slick black PJ Harvey haircut and Nine Inch Nails tapes kept her company. I whistled Joy Division, and waited.

Hermione met up with me five minutes later. She wore her green army jacket over a checkered shirt and tight light blue jeans. A brown vinyl bag draped on her shoulder. Noticing me in the shadows, she nodded, and approached me. I nodded back. She walked up close to me. She grasped my waist, and pulled me close to her. "Hey boy," she said.

"Hey girl," I replied.

She let go of my waist, and started to walk confidently through the halls. Silently, I followed suit. The hallways were empty at night. There was a deep silence passing through the halls. Hermione's shoes tapped ahead of me. I held my hands tight in the front pocket of my jacket, and stayed a few paces behind her. Her hips swayed.

We left the area around Gryffindor, walked down some stairs, through a hallway filled with empty classrooms, by the door to the outside, around the bend of the eastern edge of the school, turned, and ascended up towards the eastern tower. Hermione continued ahead of me. I watched as her hips swayed. Near the top of the tower, the stairs opened into a large room surrounded by three doors, the divinity classrooms. I'd taken a course in fifth year. Hermione walked towards one of the doors, placed her wand against the wood, and spoke a short incantation. With a _snap_, the door slowly began to open.

"Trelawney lets me use this room as I wish."

The room formed a crescent, with curved windows facing the outside. A half dozen round tables, each with a dark table cloth, were arranged along the wide wall. In the centre of the crescent, surrounded by the tables, an ebony chair sat in silhouette.

"I didn't take you for someone who liked divination."

"I don't." Hermione walked to one of the tables, and sat down. She crossed her legs, and searched in her bag. "I received my worst mark in divination. I can't stand it." She took out a bottle from her bag: a small glass bottle with a yellow label. "Gin?"

"Sure." I sat down across from her. The moon light crept through the large round window beside us. Hermione took a sip of her bottle, winced, and passed it to me. "Might I ask then, why do you have access to the room?"

"I've found that, really, it's usually as simple as asking. Especially when you're a head prefect and top of your year. I only needed to spin some bullshit about hoping to improve my skills. She was more than happy to give me access. Not a tinge of suspicion that I may use it improperly."

I took a swig of the gin, and nodded my head. "Than why here? Of every classroom, why do you want access of a class you hate?"

"Cause here, I'm faced with my failure. It's like I can see the edge of myself, the places I could not cross, the mountains I could not climb. And it feels real, it actually feels fucking real, unlike those stars pretending to be close to me. At least, here, I'm faced with a truth." I passed her the bottle back, and she had another sip. "Plus, I like the view. It's not fair that the mad ravings of a confused woman gets to be held here, in such a pretty, quiet place."

I grabbed the bottle from her, and took a swig, and passed it. This continued, passing from hand to hand. I leaned back into my chair. The dark night was overcast by clouds, except for the brief clearing in which the moon was held. It was a soft white mark on the evening sky. Hermione sat nearly in front of it. Its rays made her curly blonde hair glow.

"You often bring boys up here?"

She smiled. "No. You're the first Nott. I've never brought anyone else up here."

"Really?"

"Yeah. This place is just for me, well, it usually is."

"I'm flattered."

"I thought it would level out the playing field. I disrupted your personal place on the dock. It's only fair to that you should disrupt mine."

"Fair enough." I took out my wand from my leather jacket, waved it around in the air, and spoke: "_uanescet._" A blue light glowed. I took a cigarette from my pocket, put it in my mouth, and lit it with the ugly yellow lighter, exhaling in one long, slow breath. Hermione held the bottle of gin, and took a sip.

"Can I ask you something?" she asked.

"Sure."

"Are you a virgin?"

I took a drag. For a second, the smoke I exhaled resembled the silhouette of a quiet girl with black hair.

"Yes."

"Interesting."

"Are you?"

"No."

"Cool." I took the gin from her, and took a sip. "How was it?"

"Honestly? It was pretty fucking bad. Back in the summer, I stayed a week at Ron's place. In the middle of the day, with his mother downstairs, we decided to go at it." She chuckled. "We were so afraid of being heard, that we barely moved at all."

"Sounds wonderful."

"Just how I imagined it."

"Why do you ask?"

She stood from her seat. "I'm curious. I don't know a lot about you, Theodore Nott."

"And I don't know much about you, Hermione Granger." I took a drag.

Hermione stood from the table, turned towards the window, and walked up close to the glass. In one hand she held the bottle of gin, and took a sip. With the other hand, she lightly brushed her fingers on the surface of the window. The clouds in the night sky were starting to part. Stars bled through. Dim dots on the dark canvas. The rest of the school was black. Only a couple of windows, tightly bunched, were lit. I assumed they were the three different houses. We couldn't see Slytherin. It was a windowless house hidden in the ground.

"It's such a shame," Hermione began, "for seven years, my only exposure to this view was wasted in Divination. Maybe that's the reason I asked for access to the room. I wanted to take this room back, before I left the school. Do it on my terms."

Her body was in complete silhouette, before the window. I took a drag.

"You can ask me something personal, if you like," she said.

"Yeah?"

"It's only fair. You answered my question."

"Alright." I breathed deeply. My cigarette burned between my fingers. "Why were you on the dock that night?"

She stood silent for a moment. Her fingers continued to brush the window. "Ron broke up with me."

"So that's what this is."

"Maybe."

She turned around, and approached me. The green army jacket slipped off her shoulders, and fell to the ground. "I don't really know to be honest. I'm just this confused scared girl, who doesn't know what to do. Maybe this is that. Maybe it's not. I still felt my heart beat when I held your hand. I still felt so alive in your arms."

"And what about me?"

"What about you?"

"You know my situation. You know about her."

"So?" she asked embittered. She took an exaggerated swig from the gin. "What does she mean to you? Will you even know her when the semester ends? Have you even kissed her? Touched her?"

I stirred in my seat. "Fuck off. It's my business, not yours. Just because Ron burned you, doesn't mean you're an expert on me."

"Fine." She turned towards the window.

I took a drag. Silence.

"I'm just tired," her voice sounded fragile. "I'm just so fucking tired. I don't want to stay here, watching the stars, hoping they'll come closer. I'm tired of watching them. I'm tired of all the regret. I'm tired of looking back, and I'm tired of looking forwards. I want to live now. I want to feel something here. I want a star to be close to me, and not all so fucking far away."

"And what, you expect me to forget about Tracey, so that you can feel a little more alive?"

"Maybe. Maybe that's what I want. I want you Nott."

She moved towards me. Her hips swayed. She placed the bottle on the table, and straddled me, sitting on my lap, her chest facing me. She passed her hands through my hair, and leaning downwards, kissed me. I grabbed her back, and held her closer to me. The tip of her tongue passed into my mouth. I grabbed the front of her checkered shirt, and started to undo the buttons on the front. With each button, a little more skin was exposed, down around her cleavage, deep to her stomach, and just above her waist. She wore a white bra. Our kissing intensified. She started to move her hips on my lap. I grabbed her ass, and, with the other hand, stroked the front of her bra. Hermione moaned. I pulled back the cup, exposing her breast, the skin soft within my grasp. Her hand moved above my waist, snuck beneath my pants, under my boxers, and grabbed my erection. Delicately, she started to stroke it. I pulled down the other cup of her bra, and placed kisses on her chest.

And, in a moment, it all ended. A sudden realization flooded my mind. We were both kids, trying to connect, for the wrong reasons, held between the great gap that separates everyone's mind, tinging each grasp in regret that you can never truly understand. The tragic paradox: never really being close, no matter how tightly you pull.

I stopped, and looked at Hermione. She stared back at me, silent, as if she had shared the same epiphany. She looked terrified, not at me, or what we were doing, but at herself, and the reflection she saw in my eyes. A single tear crawled down her eyes, and she repeated, one last time, "I'm sorry."

And I felt sucked away. The words pulled me far into the sky, until I shined like a dim light, a dot in the night. It sickened me. I sickened me. It was ruined now. I knew it. And that PJ Harvey haircut was torn from my grasp, by my own hand.

And for what? And for what? We were this brief failing flash that we both knew was going to burn up. There was no chance. But, there was also supposed to be no tears. The single tear crawled down her face; a single tear crawled down mine.

"No, Hermione, I'm sorry."

She stood up from on top of me, and buttoned up her checkered shirt. I adjusted my pants. She turned away from me, and stared at the window.

"It's such a pretty night. The stars are coming out." she said.

She sat on the ground, looking through the glass. I joined her. The wide round window stretched out around us.

"Would you like a smoke?" I asked.

"I'd love one."

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The End

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Author's Notes:

I hope you like it.

Please Leave a Review.

Thanks. BJ.


End file.
